


Fijación Tactile

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Crack, G - White Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 19:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Sometimes, a sixth sense is not strictly necessary.





	Fijación Tactile

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: No spoilers. Gene/DeLorean. THE CAR, NOT THE MAN. XD  


* * *

_Dull sodium light glitters through the windows of the now-quiet factory as it stands silently in the night, awaiting the following morning, when the workers will return once more and fill it with sounds. Metal on metal, welding torches, loud music blasting tinnily out of radios, radial saws...all in the name of mechanising a new sportscar luxury._

_No-one would have thought he'd do it, not the Gene Hunt they knew, anyway. But after one smouldering look from the pages of one of those glossy rags McIntosh kept strewn about his desk, he'd known._

_He'd had many loves in his life, and more than a few had been four-wheeled in nature. It was who he was, and how he was built._

_But as Gene stood in the shadow and slowly stroked his bare knuckles along the fine grain of the polished stainless steel doorsill of the DMC-12, he felt a sense of peace._

_Of belonging._

_This was right, somehow._

_Enough he might even give up smoking. Wouldn't want to ruin the interior of such a fine piece of craftsmanship as this, would he?_

_Gene paled, then smacked himself a few times across the face. What had he been thinking?_

_She was beautiful, but there's no way she was worth that._

_He smirked wryly and continued his illicit fondling of his misbegotten love._


End file.
